


Confidant

by redseeker



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Allies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, mutual idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28633251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redseeker/pseuds/redseeker
Summary: Migs Mayfeld never thought he would see the Mandalorian again. He's thought of the masked man many times since they last parted, so when Mando reappears one day and asks for his help on a job, how can he resist the chance to fight by his side once again, and maybe catch another glimpse of those beautiful brown eyes?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 64
Kudos: 184





	1. Anywhere You Need to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy guys, I've never written for Star Wars before and I don't know what I'm doing! Please go easy on me!

Officially speaking, Migs Mayfeld was dead.

Which was convenient, because he was about to become unofficially dead as well, and that would save everybody a lot of paperwork.

He ducked behind the crumbling wall once more as blaster bolts flew over his head. He was pinned down, the rest of his crew already dead or fled. They’d gone into the job thinking it would be a straight-forward case of defending a town from raiders, but once they were there, they found it wasn’t disorganised bandits they were fighting but a well-armed private militia made up of Imperial remnants. The town itself was home to a mining facility that was in high demand, and the local warlords had been fighting over the spot since the fall of the Empire. Mayfeld’s employer had been too cheap to pay for the numbers he’d need to win this little war, and Mayfeld and his comrades paid the price. It pissed Mayfeld off. Here he was, trying to go legit for once, and he got fucked over, _again_.

He risked a look over his cover, only to jerk back down when a shot almost took his eye out. The battle was all but over, and the enemy was simply mopping up anyone dumb enough to have stuck around this long. Somehow it felt fitting that he’d go out this way. It was a stupid, pointless death for the sake of a patch of land a handful of assholes were squabbling over, and he felt like that was just the story of his life: trivial, pointless, not even a footnote in the annals of history. He was a deserter, a mercenary, a man with no ties or legacy. No one had mourned Migs Mayfeld when he “died” in the refinery explosion on Morak, and no one would mourn him now.

Well, then so be it, he thought. This was the life he’d chosen, and he’d choose the way it ended, too. He’d make one final stand and then take his death like a man. He jumped to his feet, aimed his blaster at an oncoming soldier, but before he could pull the trigger, the man in front of him disappeared.

Or, rather, he was disintegrated.

Mayfeld threw himself to the ground and watched as other enemy troops suffered the same fate as their ally. Shot by shot, someone was taking them all out. They shouted and fired in the direction of the shots, and Mayfeld used the distraction to take a few of them out himself. Grinning meanly, he rose from behind his cover and joined the fray once again. The handful of remaining survivors of his group rallied too, and soon the enemy had turned tail in retreat. Mayfeld and his comrades cheered, some embraced, and Mayfeld turned to identify their unexpected saviour.

The first thing he saw was the afternoon sun bouncing off bright armour. His rescuer looked like something out of a legend, clad head to toe in dazzling armour; it was a figure Mayfeld had never thought to see again, and just the sight of the Mandalorian striding toward him through the trees made him shake his head and blink in case he was just dreaming. The mercenaries crowded around to thank the Mandalorian for saving their lives, and Mando nodded and accepted their gratitude with his usual cool. Mayfeld thought Mando hadn’t recognised him, and he hung back, until that visor swung in his direction and he found himself pinned by an inscrutable gaze.

Suddenly Mando lunged forward and grabbed Mayfeld’s shoulder. Mayfeld shouted and fumbled for his weapon. Mando spun them around and grunted as something hit him in the back, then he turned away from Mayfeld and fired two shots from his own blaster. Mayfeld peered past Mando’s armoured shoulder to see an enemy mercenary fall and realised Mando had just saved his skin _again_. The warrior’s cape was still smoking from where the damned merc had hit him.

“Uh,” Mayfeld gasped. “Hi, Mando.”

Mando just nodded and stepped back. One of Mayfeld’s fellow mercs jostled him and said, “You know this guy?”

“We’ve worked together before,” Mando answered for him. Mayfeld was glad he didn’t give anything away. Mayfeld was working under a different name these days, a different one in every system.

As the survivors turned to walk back into the town, Mayfeld lingered near the rear of the group and fell in step with the Mandalorian. It still didn’t quite feel real that he was there.

“Thanks for back there,” he said after a while. “Uh. Gotta be honest I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Mando said.

“Really saved my ass. Again. Uh. You’re not here ‘cause you changed your mind about killing me, are you? Or taking me back to the chop fields?”

“I’m just passing through,” said Mando. “You can relax.”

“Where’s the kid?”

“Safe,” Mando said, and Mayfeld sighed in relief. He hadn’t heard from Mando since Morak, never had found out if he got his kid back. “He’s studying with the Jedi.”

“Surprised you let the little guy out of your sight.”

“I see him regularly,” Mando explained. “It was… hard to give him up, but he’ll always be my kid. I drop by the temple whenever I can, and Skywalker keeps me updated.”

“So, back to business as usual for you then, huh? Or did you just stop by to catch up?”

“Not quite,” Mando said. “Had a run in with some New Republic fighters and had to stop for repairs.”

“And just decided to join in a local tussle between small-time warlords while you wait?”

“Something like that.” They walked until they were passing back through the town gates. Mayfeld should go back to his employer and give a report of their near defeat, and someone would have to arrange to collect and dispose of the fallen. He was about to reluctantly say his goodbyes, when Mando touched his elbow and said, “I’m actually on my way to a job right now. I could use an extra gun.”

“Thought you preferred to work alone. We don’t exactly have a great track record of working together.”

“Morak was successful,” Mando said, and at once Mayfeld was back in that mess hall facing down his _sleemo_ former-CO to save Mando’s tin-plated ass. Mayfeld wasn’t a man who stuck his neck out for other people, and he could count the times he had done so on one hand. He’d done it for Mando, though, and to this day he wasn’t wholly sure why except that the man had looked so damned lost.

“Think about it,” Mando said, jarring Mayfeld out of his thoughts. “I’m staying at the inn on the plaza until the ship’s fixed. Come find me if you change your mind.”

* * *

He spent that night getting shit-faced drunk with his surviving comrades, celebrating their victory and toasting their fallen brothers. Mayfeld hadn’t known these guys for long, didn’t really care two ways about them, but he had almost met his own end that day as well. That alone was reason enough to hide at the bottom of a bottle, but the Mandalorian’s unexpected reappearance in his life had him chasing oblivion for a different reason. It made him step back and evaluate his life and what he’d done with it since Mando and Marshall Dune had spared it, and he didn’t like what he saw. So, he drank, and he thought about _beskar_ glinting in the sun and about fighters no different from himself fighting and dying for a few measly credits. Did any of them have families, or were they all as anchor-less as Mayfeld? Fewer attachments meant fewer complications; he hadn’t even much liked Ran’s crew, they were just a means to an end.

Mando was different. He had the kid, and the Marshall, and that other Mandalorian… For all he came across as a loner, he was a man who formed strong bonds and did everything he could to protect the ones he’d claimed. Mayfeld didn’t know if he envied the Mandalorian or his friends more. The last time Mayfeld had a real connection with anyone, it had been the guys from his Imperial unit, all of whom had died for the sake of the Empire. Mayfeld had made a point to remain alone ever since.

The last thing he needed was a partner, especially not the Mandalorian. It was ridiculous, and Mando probably hadn’t meant it anyway. This was what Mayfeld had decided by the time he hit his bunk in the little barracks provided for the mercenary company some time in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t need anyone, and Mando certainly didn’t need him.

He was, therefore, mystified when he found himself in the plaza in the middle of town hours later, looking at the inn. It was a cheerful little building with colourful awnings over its windows and flowers out front; nowhere anyone like Mayfeld belonged. He was hungover, his head ached fiercely, and the midday sun all but blinded his bleary eyes. He was sure he looked as dreadful as he felt. Mando would take one look at him and regret the offer he’d made, and it would serve Mayfeld right for ever thinking he could measure up to a man like that.

He almost turned away and went back to the barracks, except he was sure whatever job Mando had lined up would be more interesting than this one. He told himself that was why he strode forward as steadily as he could and went through the inn’s brightly painted door and told the woman inside that he was there to see the Mandalorian.

* * *

The Mandalorian had got himself a new ship since they’d last met. The new craft was a little larger and a lot sleeker, a definite upgrade to the heap of space junk he used to rattle around in. Mayfeld asked Mando questions about the job as they boarded and stowed their gear and learned that the target was a notorious pirate and slave trader who was rumoured to know something about one of Mando’s people.

“When I left my covert, the rest of my tribe were left behind,” Mando explained. “When I returned, only one was left. Now she’s gone as well.”

“What makes you so sure this guy you’re after knows anything?” Mayfeld asked. “Big risk to take on hearsay.”

“I trust the source,” said Mando. “My friend has a lot of connections. The information’s good.”

 _Fett_ , Mayfeld wondered. Even drifting around the most remote of galactic backwaters, he had heard about the coup on Tatooine. Bib Fortuna had run Jabba’s once great crime empire into the ground, but now Boba Fett himself had returned from the dead to build it up again. Mayfeld only believed half the stories he heard about the legendary hunter disintegrating Hutts and freeing slaves, but there was always a grain of truth in every rumour. Some people even said Fett had returned to claim not one throne but two and that a new ruler sat upon the throne of Mandalore itself… but others said no, that was another Mandalorian. They said the new king was a great warrior who carried an ancient blade, that Mandalorians of all clans flocked to his banner, that he would raise Mandalore from the ashes of its past and make it a power to be reckoned with again.

It was all the stuff of fairy tales and cheap holonovels, as far as Mayfeld was concerned, but he’d met Fett. He may be called the King of Tatooine now, but he hadn’t been the one in charge on Morak. He’d been there following Mando, just like the rest of them.

Mayfeld and the Mandalorian talked strategy on the journey. The pirate they were after usually travelled with a small fleet of raiders and cutthroats, but once every few months he stopped by a small out-of-the-way moon to visit his mistress, whom he had reportedly set up in a luxurious home. He would have some guards with him, but between them Mando and Mayfeld would have no trouble neutralising them and seizing the captain. They would be on their way before the rest of the fleet knew what was happening.

They reached the moon ahead of time and brought the ship down into the midst of a lush forest. From there, they trekked through the woods until they reached the walls of the mistress’s compound. Together they walked the perimeter of the property, noted guard posts and exits, proximity to other dwellings, and compared the terrain to the holo-map Mando had stored in the computer on his vambrace. Then they returned to the front of the compound and found a concealed spot in one of the high trees to wait.

When dusk began to fall, they heard a shuttle land nearby, and soon after there came a party strolling down the forest path. From their vantage point, Mando spotted the captain plus only three armed companions, two men and one woman. They scanned the forest with watchful eyes but the captain himself seemed unconcerned.

“He’s overconfident,” Mando murmured.

The compound gates closed behind the party, and Mayfeld turned to Mando and said, “What now?”

“Now we wait,” said Mando.

They waited until it was full dark before they moved. Mando’s grapple got them to the top of the wall, and Mayfeld picked off the patrolling guards with pinpoint accuracy. The next step was to cut off the power to the compound to prevent communications, so the target couldn’t call his fleet for back-up. Mayfeld was to go to the control centre at the back of the compound and deal with that, while Mando sneaked inside to locate and isolate their target. They were just about to split up when Mando put a hand on Mayfeld’s arm and whispered, “Wait.”

Crouching behind the parapet, the pair watched as a door opened below, flooding the courtyard with warm yellow light. A woman emerged, followed rapidly by the pirate captain himself. He grabbed the woman’s arm and began to drag her back inside. Their raised voices were audible even from Mayfeld and Mando’s hiding spot high on the wall. The woman told the man to let go of her, and he growled something in response and jerked her small body closer. She pushed at him and struggled, raked her nails across his face, and he answered by backhanding her so hard she fell to the ground.

“ _Dank farrik_ ,” Mando muttered.

Mayfeld cast him a sideways glance. This wasn’t their problem, not their mission.

Below, the slaver was on a tirade, pacing back and forth and gesticulating aggressively. The woman stayed on the ground and sobbed. It was profoundly uncomfortable to watch, but nothing Mayfeld hadn’t seen a hundred times before when he was growing up. He expected the argument to blow over, and when the couple went back inside, he and Mando could continue the job as planned—wait for the house to settle, and then move in stealthily. But when the pirate drew a blaster from his belt and pointed it at the woman, all the while bellowing drunken abuse, Mando pulled his own gun and shot the man without hesitation. The pirate fell, and the woman screamed.

“Find the ones he came in with,” Mando ordered, and Mayfeld swiftly moved through the shadows and slipped inside the house while Mando dropped into the courtyard to approach the frightened woman. Mayfeld intercepted one of the guards early on and dispatched him with a neat shot to the back of the head, and then jogged through the house’s lavish hallways as he circled back towards the courtyard. He found the other two in what must be the compound’s control room, shot one of them, but missed the other, who darted out another door. Swearing, Mayfeld made sure to deactivate all the house’s security systems, including alarms that would notify the rest of the wife-beating bastard’s fleet. Then he went towards the sound of shooting.

He came to a spacious room lit by an open fire and candles, with a long table set for two with glittering gold and crystal tableware. It was a romantic atmosphere at odds with the scene unfolding by the open sliding doors. Framed in the wide doorway, the female guard had a child in a headlock and a blaster to the kid’s head. Beyond her, the Mandalorian stood in the courtyard with the captain’s mistress sobbing behind him. Mayfeld slowed his steps and silently slipped into the room, thankful the guard hadn’t seen him yet. When he was a few feet away he pointed his blaster at her back and said, “Let the kid go.”

He saw the woman stiffen.

“You won’t make it out of this,” Mando was telling her. His hands were upraised, his blaster on the ground between himself and the pirate, but Mayfeld knew better than to think he was truly disarmed. “If you harm that child, we will kill you.”

“What’s to stop you from killing me anyway?” the pirate snarled. “No, the little one and I are walking out of here.”

“Pen, please,” cried the woman behind Mando. She was petite and slender, with dark hair and sheer, flowing clothes, her face obscured by bruises and tears. “You’ve known me for years. I didn’t have anything to do with this, I don’t know who these men are! Just let Kiran go and we can talk about this—"

“Don’t talk to me like we’re friends, whore!” said the pirate.

Mayfeld tried to meet the Mandalorian’s eyes past the pirate’s shoulder, but the man’s visor was as enigmatic as ever. He ran over everything he knew about the man and evaluated his posture to try and predict what he was thinking, how he was going to play this. What he saw was troubling. He recognised the tense uncertainty in Mando’s body language from that day in the Imperial mess. If Mando went for his weapon, there was a small chance he wouldn’t shoot the pirate in time to save the kid; if he did, he might clip the brat by accident. Mando wouldn’t take that risk. He’d let the bitch take the boy hostage rather than gamble with a child’s life, but who was to say she wouldn’t kill the kid as soon as she escaped anyway?

Mayfeld never was a Stormtrooper. He was a marksman, and risky shots were what he was good at. The Mandalorian wouldn’t take this shot, so he had to.

He did it fast before he could hesitate, fired a blaster bolt through the back of the pirate’s head, and only when she began to fall did he release the breath he’d been holding. Mando lunged forward to take the child before the dead woman could collapse on top of him, but the boy’s mother beat him to it. She gathered the shaken child into her arms and wept into his hair.

Mayfeld was aware of Mando’s eyes on him as he holstered his weapon. He avoided the bounty hunter’s gaze and chose to inspect the fallen captain instead, until the dead man’s mistress called out to him. She was on her feet now, the little boy clutching her hand and hiding behind her skirts. She looked Mayfeld straight in the eye and said, “Thank you for saving my son.”

Mayfeld glanced at Mando and back. He wasn’t the hero around here, the Mandalorian was. But it was Mayfeld she was looking at. Now that she’d stopped crying, her eyes were piercing, and she stood as straight as any warrior.

“It was n—” Mayfeld began to say, and then bit his tongue because it wasn’t nothing, not to her. Not to Mando either, perhaps. So, he gave an awkward nod instead, and was grateful when Mando stepped forward to take charge.

“I’m sorry,” Mando said. “About your…” He looked at the fallen pirate captain, her lover.

“Do not be,” she said. “Did my family send you?” Mando and Mayfield exchanged a look. Mando shook his head at her and her face fell. “I thought… I thought our rescue had finally come. You are here to take me home, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Mando said. “We’re here because I hoped this man could help me find members of my clan who are lost to me. We didn’t know you were a prisoner.” The woman bit her lip and pushed the child further behind her. “But we mean you no harm,” Mando added softly.

“Your clan… They are family?” Mando nodded. “He had stolen so many people. Perhaps I can help you. He trusted me, I know where he keeps his secret records,” she said. “Even if they don’t help you find your family, they would be worth a lot on the black market. Take me and Kiran home and they’re yours.”

Mayfeld said nothing; it was Mando’s call to make, he was just along for the ride. The lady took their silence as reluctance and went on, “If that’s not enough, then I can pay. Name the amount and I’ll double it. He gave me a generous allowance over the years and I put it all away for the day I could escape from this place.”

Mayfeld glanced at Mando. Most of the cutthroats he’d been working with throughout his mercenary career would have taken the lady up on that offer... if that were the best thing they did. He hated that not so long ago he would probably have been one of them. Mando wasn’t like him, though; he knew what Mando would say even before he spoke.

“That’s not necessary,” Mando said with a shake of his head and a sigh. “We’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”

Her smile was still weak, and she looked uncertainly between the two men. Mayfeld cleared his throat and stepped forward, holding out his hand and saying with all the best manners his mother drilled into him back when there’d been a chance of him growing into an actual decent person, “I’m Migs. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

He recognised the look in her eyes, the same hardness he’d seen reflected in his own for years—the eyes of someone who’d had to build up walls around themselves to try to protect from the hurt, because if you didn’t then you would just break… She was still wary, but after a hesitation she took Migs’s hand and shook it. He offered a crooked smile, and she laughed. She looked younger when she smiled.

“I am Alline,” the woman said. “And this is Kiran.” The boy peeked out from behind his mother’s skirts. She looked expectantly at Mando, but as usual he avoided divulging his name.

“We’ll need to get moving quickly if we want to get past the other ships undetected,” he said. “Show me these files.”

If Alline was nervous about being alone with two strange and disreputable men, she did a creditable job hiding it. At Mando’s suggestion she squared her narrow shoulders and led the armoured warrior into the building, with Kiran still clinging to her hand. Mayfeld hesitated in the courtyard long enough to peer around and listen for any dangers they might have missed before he plodded after them as well. Kiran, who couldn’t be more than five or so, looked back at him with wide distrustful eyes.

Alline retrieved an unassuming datastick from what must have been her lover’s private office, but she hesitated before giving it to Mando. Understanding her fear, Mayfeld jumped in and said, “Hold onto it until we get you home safe.” There was a time not too long ago when he would have taken what he wanted and left her to fend for herself and he hated that. He hated the tiny tilt of Mando’s head that betrayed his surprise, surprise that Mayfeld could be decent when he wanted to be. Hadn’t Morak proved that?

It ached how much he wanted to prove himself to this man.

* * *

Back on the ship, Din went straight to the cockpit to start take-off. They had already taken longer than they planned, and every moment they lingered increased the danger. With a lack of any other direction, Mayfeld stowed his weapons and showed Alline and the kid to a bunk. He’d poked around the ship on the way there and found not one sleeping berth but two, in separate, private cabins. They were very small, but more spacious than most ships this size, and better than that little crawlspace Mando had on the _Razor Crest_. One cabin was obviously Mando’s, while the other was empty. Mayfeld supposed he’d intended it for his little one, but it would do now for their passengers.

“There’s a lock on the inside,” he pointed out as he awkwardly showed them inside. She nodded her thanks and Mayfeld hesitated. “Do you need, uh…” He gestured vaguely to his face. The poor woman still had blood on her face and the beginnings of a juicy black eye. “Shit, maybe Mando’s got some bacta around here—”

Some rummaging in the fresher later, he found Mando’s first-aid kid and brought it back to the cabin door, riffling through it for bacta patches and salve. Alline watched him with eyes that seemed to see right through him, and he blushed as he got more flustered. “Here,” he said and handed the kit to her. “You probably wanna do it yourself. Fresher’s just down there. Um.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “Thank you. You and your partner have been very kind.”

“Oh, he’s not—” Mayfeld began, but then he rethought it. He supposed they were partners of a sort, for this job at least. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “He’s a good guy. You can trust him.”

Alline’s lips quirked as though she was fighting a smile.

“I haven’t met many good men,” she said. “Not in a long time.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Mayfeld said.

She did smile then, and it lit up her face. Then she beckoned to the kid and turned toward the fresher. The boy went with her, and when they were out of sight Mayfeld let out a long sigh. Maker, what a mess.

He turned to return to the common area, intending to check over and organise his gear, only to run into nearly six feet of _beskar_ -clad muscle.

“Fuck! How long have you been there?”

“Not long.” Mando tilted his head to look over Mayfeld’s shoulder. “They’re okay?”

“Pretty shaken up, but they’ll live. I said she could clean up in your fresher…”

“That’s fine.” Mando looked around as though looking for something amiss, then motioned for Mayfeld to follow him. They climbed to the cockpit where Mando settled in the pilot’s seat and Mayfeld hovered awkwardly by the co-pilot’s chair. Mando swivelled his chair around so he could look at Mayfeld. Behind him, the view-screen was filled with the soft, bright blur of hyperspace.

“You can sit down,” Mando said after a while. Mayfeld did so, even though he felt like an impostor to be sitting there in Mando’s new ship like he was a real part of his crew. “I’ll need her to give me the co-ordinates she wants us to take her to. For now, I just wanted to get away from those pirates.”

Mayfeld sighed and rubbed his face. “You really think she’s got what you need? Did you even check she’s got the intel she says she does?”

“If she doesn’t, I’ll just have to keep looking.”

They lapsed into silence for a while, Mando occasionally checking the instruments while Mayfeld zoned out until, a while later, Alline climbed up to join them in the cockpit. Her face was scrubbed, her hair was clean and braided, and she had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. Mayfeld jumped out of his seat and moved aside so she could sit and pointedly ignored the way Mando’s visor followed him.

It took six hours in hyperspace to reach the little planet Alline directed them to. For the first hour or so, she sat in the cockpit with Mayfeld and Mando and explained more about the situation they had inadvertently saved her from. Her pirate lover had kept her in that luxurious prison isolated from the rest of the moon’s population and lightyears away from her family. When he visited, she was expected to greet him like an agreeable mistress, and basically cease to exist all the rest of the time. Kiran was his, of course, but was still too young to take an interest in. When he got older, he might have a career to look forward to following in his father’s footsteps, but Alline wanted better than that for her son.

As she talked, she gradually relaxed more and more. She was still shaken from the night’s events, but the happiness of being finally free of her jailer made her animated and talkative. Mando, being his usual brooding self, didn’t bring much to the table so it was up to Mayfeld to engage with the woman and provide a listening ear. He got the feeling she had gone too many years without anyone to confide in, so it was the least he could do. When she grew tired and retreated to her cabin to rest, the cockpit seemed very quiet.

Mayfeld reclaimed the co-pilot’s seat with a sigh.

After a few minutes of silence, Mando said, “It’s still a few hours until we get there. You should get some rest.”

“Guess you want some peace and quiet, huh, Mando?” Mayfeld said with a wry smile.

The Mandalorian looked at him for an unnervingly long moment before turning back to the view screen. Mayfeld was about to leave and find some corner to bed down in where he would be out of Mando’s hair when Mando said, almost too softly to hear, “Din.”

“Hm?”

“My name,” said Mando. He gave Mayfeld another glance over his shoulder and a half shrug to go with it. “It’s Din. You might as well know it since you already—”

“I didn’t see anything,” Mayfeld reminded him, even though he’d committed that handsome face to memory.

Mando pressed a couple buttons on the navigation console and then swivelled his chair around. Mayfeld was on his feet, so Mando had to look up at him from his seat. Mayfeld almost thought they were going to have a fight about it, until Mando sighed and said, “In any case, you can use it.”

Mayfeld nodded. He left the cockpit and made a makeshift bunk out of one of the benches in the galley, and tried not to think about what it meant that he held both Mando’s face and his name in his mind like secrets no one else was privileged to know.


	2. Space Waffles and Sleepless Nights

Din hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He woke with a jolt to find himself still in the pilot’s seat in the cockpit and the view through the screen ahead showed they were still in hyperspace. He checked the ship’s readouts and determined everything was still running smoothly, and they were still a couple of hours away from Alline’s home planet. Just then he heard Alline calling Kiran’s name and realised it must have been her voice that roused him. Din immediately rose and left the cockpit. He met her at the bottom of the ladder and she took a step back, startled at his sudden appearance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her. “Where’s the kid?”

“I don’t know. We were sleeping, but when I woke the cabin door was open and he wasn’t there.”

Din’s jaw clenched and his heart thumped in panic. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. He should never have left the woman and child unaccompanied with an unscrupulous mercenary like Mayfeld. He stomped past Alline towards the main area of the ship. This common area doubled as a modest living space and galley, with benches and a small table, an ancient _dejarik_ board, and a couple of lockers full of ration bars and space waffle mix next to a tiny stove. Din stopped at the threshold when he saw the very villain he was looking for seated at the table with Kiran opposite and hands of brightly-coloured cards spread out between them. Mayfeld looked up when Din entered and Din was thrown off-guard by the easy smile the merc gave him. Kiran glanced around just as his mother followed Din into the room, and smiled for the first time Din had seen.

“Mama, look!” the boy said, pointing to a little pile of nuts and bolts the pair were presumably using as chips. “I won!”

“Kid’s a natural,” Mayfeld said as Alline went closer. She leaned over the boy’s shoulder to inspect his cards and congratulate him on being so clever. Mayfeld set his cards down and stood. “All right, now everyone’s up, who’s hungry? You hungry, kiddo?”

Kiran nodded exaggeratedly.

“Good, ‘cause I’m about to whip up the best waffles you ever tasted, just like my own Ma used to make.”

Alline slid onto the bench beside her son and wrapped her arm around his small shoulders. “Can I help?” she said, but Mayfeld wouldn’t have it. Giving in, she asked, “Do you have any caf?”

“Coming right up. Hey, Mando, you got caf somewhere in here?” The man was already rummaging through what passed for Din’s kitchen and Din made himself take a deep breath because he hated people invading his space, but at the same time he felt just a little bit guilty about having thought the worst of the man just minutes ago. He’d been quick to assume Mayfeld was up to no good when all he was doing was keeping the kid entertained so he wouldn’t be alone.

Slowly, he crossed the room and joined Mayfeld at the stove.

“Teaching the kid how to gamble?” he said.

“Good morning to you too,” said Mayfeld.

“Caf’s in there,” Din said and pointed. “I’ll do it while you make the waffles. I didn’t expect you to know how to cook.”

“Mando, you call this cooking?” Mayfeld gave him a pitying look. “When was the last time you ate real food?”

Din didn’t dignify that with an answer, only busied himself brewing a pot of caf. They worked in close quarters, side by side, while Alline spoke quietly to Kiran and the boy babbled back. Din only had two cups—one normal, one Grogu-sized—but they would have to do. He put them on the table with the caf and Alline swiftly poured. Din caught Kiran staring at him, though the boy jumped when he looked back. The kid hesitated and then said, “Are you a droid?”

Behind Din, Mayfeld snorted. Din shook his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he said.

Kiran thought about this, turning over the unfamiliar word in his mind. Then he said, “Is that why you don’t have a face?”

“Kiran!” Alline scolded, but Din waved to show he wasn’t offended.

“I do have a face,” Din explained. “But I wear this,” he went on, touching a gloved finger to the bottom of his helmet, “because it’s part of my culture. Where I come from, we only show our faces to our closest family.”

“Huh,” said Kiran. Then it seemed the matter was forgotten, because he peered past Din towards the stove where the waffles were beginning to smell toasty and sweet. Din turned to see Mayfeld sliding a stack of them onto a plate. It was such an incongruous sight, made even more confusing when the man looked over his shoulder and said, “Got anything to go on these?”

“…Top shelf,” Din said, pointing to one of the small storage lockers. Mayfeld rummaged until he found a bottle of syrup, half empty and sticky on the sides. In response to Mayfeld’s amused, questioning look, Din said, “The kid likes it.”

Strictly speaking, Grogu liked to eat almost anything, but Din preferred not to feed him live frogs if he could avoid it.

Din leaned against the counter while Mayfeld divvied out the food and sat to drink caf with the two passengers. Din felt like a stranger in his own ship, and was both mystified and captivated by the domestic little scene going on in front of him. Several times Mayfeld said something to make Alline laugh; he wondered if she would be anything like this at ease if Din had been on that mission alone.

Most of all, watching the other three made him miss his own _ad_ , until he slipped out of the room and back to the cockpit because his chest had tightened up and there was a ridiculous possibility he might cry.

It was half an hour or so later that he heard someone climbing the ladder and turned to see Mayfeld enter with a plate in one hand.

“You didn’t eat anything,” he explained. “I mean, because of the, you know… So, uh, here.” He set the plate down. The food would be cold, but Din was surprised the man had thought to save him any at all.

“Thank you,” he said, but Mayfeld averted his eyes and waved it off. When Din was alone again, he removed his helmet and ate the lot.

* * *

Alline’s home world was a temperate little planet with just a handful of cities, many spread-out farming communities, and miles and miles of wilderness. As they made their approach, Alline explained how the peaceful world had been targeted heavily by raiders when she was younger, although the treasure the raiders came for was not produce or livestock but people.

Din landed the ship on a broad stretch of grassland. Alline’s hometown lay in the wooded valley just below. They left the ship and descended into the trees on foot, Mayfeld carrying the bag Alline had hastily packed for herself and Kiran before leaving the mansion while Din took point. Alline wasn’t nervous, but six years had passed since she was stolen, and Din was inclined to caution.

The village was surrounded by walls made from logs and sheets of metal, clearly cobbled together out of whatever materials were available. The top of the wall boasted sharp spikes, and there was a lookout tower beside the gate. Alline slowed her pace and Din did the same. “It’s changed,” she said. She was looking around as though she didn’t recognise anything.

The lookout in the tower saw them coming and shouted. Din saw Mayfeld’s hand straying to his blaster and shook his head. Trigger-happy, that’s what the mercenary was. Din didn’t need another firefight.

“Stop where you are!” the lookout ordered, watching them through the scope of a rifle. Din placed himself in front of the others and held his hands up. “We don’t want your kind here,” called the tower guard. “You only bring trouble.”

“Deryn, is that you?” Alline stepped deftly between Mayfeld and Din and shielded her eyes from the sun as she squinted up at the man in the tower.

The guard hesitated before lowering his rifle and saying brokenly, “Allie?” Just then Kiran peered out from behind his mother’s skirts, and the guard gasped. “Allie, where have you… I… We thought you were dead.”

“Will you let me in so you can welcome me home properly?” Alline flashed Mayfeld and Din a smile before striding toward the gate with Kiran in tow.

“Wait!” Din reached after her, but she was already out of his reach. He exchanged a look with Mayfeld and they hastened after her.

The gate was creaking open, and before long the young man from the tower appeared in the widening gap. Din saw him look from Alline to himself and Mayfeld, saw his face darken with confusion. He still had his rifle, and he held it up, although this close Din could see how his aim wavered.

“You two stop right there,” the lad called. “Allie, come here. Quickly.”

“They are friends,” Alline protested. “Heroes. They have saved me.” She reached back without looking and grabbed Mayfeld’s sleeve with the hand that wasn’t clutched in Kiran’s. Tugging the man forward, she said, “Deryn Caster, what has happened to your manners? If it were not for these men I might never have made it back to you. This is Migs, and this…” she hesitated when she turned to Din. “This is a Mandalorian, one of the greatest warriors in the galaxy.”

“I see,” said Caster. He crouched to put himself on eye level with Kiran. “And what about you?”

“This is Kiran,” Alline said. “My son.”

Din caught the note of defiance in her voice. Would her family reject the child because he was her captor’s progeny? He forced himself to breathe deeply to combat the preemptive anger already rising within him.

Deryn’s face was solemn as he looked closely at the boy, but then he held out his hand and said, “Hello Kiran. I’m your Uncle Deryn. Welcome home.” 

Kiran mumbled a shy greeting and Deryn’s face split into a grin. Din could see the family resemblance clear as day. 

“It’s been a long time, Allie,” Deryn said as he stood back up. “We tried to find you, but there was no trace. We couldn’t afford to send a hunter—” The young man bit his lip. “Can you forgive me?” 

In answer, Alline pulled her brother into a tight embrace. The pair fell to their knees and folded Kiran into the hug as well, and clung onto one another as though for dear life.

Din stood well back. Mayfeld looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there, and Din couldn’t say he blamed him. Restoring Alline and the kid to their family was the right thing to do, but it still hurt when he was separated from his own.

The siblings insisted that both Din and Mayfeld accompany them into the village and enjoy their family’s hospitality. Din was reluctant, but Mayfeld just shrugged at him and mouthed, “Free meal.” 

The village was rustic, and put Din in mind of the little hamlet he’d defended on Sorgen. The buildings were humble but looked to be in good repair, and livestock and children milled around in abundance. Were the fortifications for the raiders who’d carried Alline off, or was there another danger that threatened the town? Deryn with his rifle was out of place amongst what looked like simple people living off the land. Their party attracted attention as they made their way through town, until a gaggle of villagers surrounded Alline, Deryn, and Kiran. Din stayed a few paces back and found himself in step with Mayfeld.

“Is this what it’s like for you?” the mercenary said, leaning closer so only Din heard him. “Hero’s welcome everywhere you go?”

“It’s her they’re welcoming,” Din said, but he’d heard Alline sing his and Mayfeld’s praises and seen more than one admiring look from the villagers. Alline turned back then and gave them both a bright smile. The bruise over her eye was healing well thanks to the bacta salve. With the blanket still around her shoulders hiding her shimmery gown and her hair in a simple braid, she fitted right in with the people around her. Din thought of Omera, the woman on Sorgan he’d almost left his son with. He’d been able to see a life for himself there, not just for Grogu. It had beckoned to him, teasing him with the prospect of peace and simplicity, a warm home and a loving spouse and a safe place for his _ad_ to grow up…

“Do you ever get homesick?”

“What?”

“Mandalorians. Wanderin’ all over the galaxy. You don’t ever want to put down some roots?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Din admitted, but offered nothing more. Keen to deflect attention, he said, “What about you?”

“Me? Come on, Mando, do I look like the type?”

“She likes you,” Din said, nodding towards Alline.

“What?” Mayfeld spluttered. “Yeah, right. As if anyone’s gonna look twice at me when you’re right there.” He laughed, and then turned it into a cough. “Besides,” he added. “She’s not my type.”

“Beautiful women aren’t your type?”

“I said what I said,” Mayfeld grumbled. His ears and the back of his neck had turned red. He was so pale, every hint of a blush was obvious. “If you really need to know, she reminds me of my sister.”

“You never mentioned you had a sister,” Din said after a pause.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t recall you being especially forthcoming about your family either. You let me think the little green guy was a _pet_.”

Din hadn’t wanted to reveal how important Grogu was and expose a vulnerability like that. It would have put the kid in more danger, especially when at the time he hadn’t been sure Mayfeld wasn’t about to kill him just to fuck with Din. He didn’t get the chance to explain because the group ahead of them had come to a stop, and Alline was beckoning them forward. They had evidently reached her home.

Alline’s family’s house was one of the larger ones in the village, arranged over one storey with a grassy roof and a garden out front where a shaggy goat munched on herbs. Din and Mayfeld wove through the crowd and past the gate, and then were ushered through the front door of the house where there were more tearful greetings between Alline and her kin. Din and Mayfeld were welcomed as heroes and each bore it with near equal awkwardness. Later there was food and drink, all of which Din eschewed even though his stomach rumbled. It was all a whirlwind, and it wasn’t until he was able to slip out much later that he felt he could breathe again. He’d lost track of Mayfeld somewhere in the chaos, but as Din stepped out the back door of the house into a yard populated by a pair of scrawny chickens, the mercenary appeared at his side to offer him a hand-rolled cigarra. Din shook his head and Mayfeld lit up. They stood in companionable silence for a while, Din leaning his elbows on the fence while Mayfeld smoked.

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky. Din felt like he’d only just got up, but it was already dusk on the little planet. As the shadows of the trees started to lengthen, Mayfeld exhaled a puff of smoke and said, “My sister had really shitty taste in men, too.”

Din turned his head, but Mayfeld only gave him a brief glance before looking away again.

“I had three brothers,” Mayfeld went on. “But just one little sister. Number of times I had to beat up some asshole only for her to run off back to him… Jina always knew best, didn’t want her meddling older brother interfering with true love,” he sneered. “My brothers were too young to do anything about it, and Mom was at her limit…”

“You did what you could,” said Din.

“Did I? If I’d never joined up, Jina might still be alive.” Din winced, grateful that his helmet hid it. “Forget it,” Mayfeld said.

“You’re not like those guys,” Din said.

“You don’t know that,” Mayfeld rasped. He dropped the cigarra and ground it out with his heel. “Why’d you even bring me here? Huh? You coulda dropped me off at some space port and brought her and the kid here on your own.”

“She likes you better than me,” Din said. It sounded petulant, even to his own ears, but how could he admit the truth? That he’d spent a year with Grogu on the ship and now that he was gone he couldn’t deal with being the only living soul on board? The quiet drove him crazy, but the alternative was worse because when he was on Mandalore he never got a moment’s peace. Mayfeld had no stake in Mandalorian politics, had no idea the mess Din had got himself into. To Mayfeld he was just Mando, bounty hunter and former mercenary, the asshole who’d sent him to jail only to later set him free.

“She trusts you,” he said.

“Like I said,” said Mayfeld. “She’s got terrible taste in men.”

* * *

They stayed one night with Alline Caster and her family. The house was small, so Alline and Kiran slept in one bedroom with Alline’s grandmother and aunt, which left the second bedroom for their guests. Deryn Caster took up a place in the main room with his rifle close by.

Inside the room, Mayfeld shed his weapons and claimed a chair by the window. Din stood awkwardly by the door.

“You sleep in all that?” Mayfeld said, waving a hand vaguely to indicate Din’s armour. 

“Usually,” Din said. If he was alone on his own ship he might allow himself to strip down, but here? In an unfamiliar place with people all around? He’d keep his _beskar_ on, thank you very much.

“Sounds comfortable,” said Mayfeld. He motioned toward the bed and said, “Well, it’s all yours. I’m good here.”

Din finally stepped further into the room and unclipped his gun belt and bandolier, lay them on the bed, and then paused again. Mayfeld was pointedly looking out the window at the dark garden. 

“Kriff it,” Din muttered. There was a small bolt on the door, and he drew it across, locking himself and Mayfeld in. Then he reached up and unsealed his helmet. Mayfeld jumped at the telltale hiss.

“Whoa, hey, what’re you doing?” 

“Door’s locked,” Din said. He took off his helmet and placed it on the foot of the bed. 

“I can leave,” Mayfeld said tightly. His eyes were fixed on the tabletop and his shoulders looked tense. 

“Don’t,” said Din. He saw the tips of Mayfeld’s ears turning pink even in the dimness. Sighing, Din said, “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

Mayfeld coughed, and when Din approached the table he saw the man’s face was red. There wasn’t a second chair, so Din pulled over a wooden trunk to sit on. 

“I’m not tired,” said Din. Mayfeld still wasn’t looking at him. For some reason Din felt frustrated at that. He’d never thought about wanting to be _seen_ before. He reached across the table and waved his hand to get Mayfeld’s attention. “Hey.”

“Fuck, Din, what’re you—?”

“You still got those cards?”

“What?” Mayfeld finally looked up. They both froze, startled blue eyes locked on brown. 

When Din had taken his helmet off in the officers’ mess on Morak, he had felt naked. He hadn’t known what to do with himself, the vulnerability and fear had been overwhelming. When he’d done it on the Imperial light cruiser he had been too emotional to think about anything but his child. He’d worried he might feel that panic again now, and he did feel nervous, but there was no sense of immediate danger. Still, Mayfeld stared at him so long he almost hid back inside his helmet; was it so strange to see his face? Had he made a mistake? What if Mayfeld read something into this that Din didn’t intend? He was about to reach out and grab his helmet again when Mayfeld’s piercing gaze softened and he said, “Hi.” 

Din blinked. “Hi,” he replied. 

Mayfeld looked like he wanted to say more but he just smiled and dipped his head. He dug into one of his belt pouches and found the deck of cards. 

“Hope you’re ready to lose, Brown Eyes,” he said. 

“A five year old beat you this morning,” Din said. “I’m not that worried.” 

Mayfeld dealt and they started to play. Gradually, Din relaxed. Half-way through their first game he removed his gloves and tossed them onto the bed beside his helmet. It let him grip the cards better, but he also noticed the way Mayfeld’s eyes lingered on his fingers, his exposed wrists. He couldn’t explain why he wanted Mayfeld to see him when he didn’t even feel that comfortable around Cara, but feeling the other man’s eyes on him sent a frisson through his body that was as pleasant as it was unfamiliar. Night fell on the village and darkness enveloped the little house. Din heard the snores and small sounds of the Caster family asleep in the rooms around them, but inside the bedroom it was just Din and Mayfeld in the little pool of light cast by the single lamp. Mayfeld chattered about this and that and Din only half-listened. He soon found out that Kiran’s win had been engineered by the sharpshooter across from him and that Mayfeld was in fact an accomplished sabacc player. 

“Used to play with the boys in my unit,” Mayfeld explained in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. “Ended up being quite the little earner.” 

Din swore under his breath a short time later when Mayfeld beat him handily for the second time in a row. “Maybe if i played with my _buy’ce_ on,” he muttered. 

Mayfeld laughed. “I can teach you a few tricks if you want,” he said. “You can’t bluff for shit but there’s ways around that.” Din huffed, which only made Mayfeld chuckle all the more. 

“What’s in it for you?” 

“Passes the time,” Mayfeld said with a shrug. “Doesn’t look like either of us is going to get much sleep tonight, and unless you change your mind about gettin’ out of that armour, this is the best thing I can think of to do.”

Din stared down at his hands as his face reddened. _Sithspit_ , at least when he had his helmet on nobody could tell when they rattled him… 

“Shit, Mando, I didn’t mean— Just ignore me, I’m an ass.” Mayfeld gathered up the cards and started shuffling the deck ready for another game. 

“It’s fine,” Din said a little hoarsely. 

“All right,” Mayfeld said after a while. Then, with a return to his usual cocky confidence, he said, “Now, you better pay attention. I’m gonna teach you how to cheat like a Canto Bight card sharp.” 

“Next time I’ll pick the game,” Din said with a crooked little smile. 

“Next time? Thought you’d be keen to see the back of me.” 

“Maybe I just want to see how badly you’ll lose at _cu’bikad,”_ said Din. “Now hurry up and deal. Apparently I’ve got a lot to learn.” 


End file.
